iting a moral obligation to use all quasi-legal means at his disposal to protect the sanctity of heterosexual marriage against any and all potential dangers, President Bush used his State of the Union address last Tuesday to call for a preemptive strike against the future threat of gay marriage. In the speech, Bush suggested that since the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruled last year that a ban on same-sex marriages was in clear violation of the US Constitution, the clear answer was to amend the Constitution and take out the part where fags can get married.

Conservatives, still upset about the 1967 Supreme Court decision that struck down state laws banning interracial marriages, applauded Bush's medicine ball-sized cajones. Meanwhile, all remaining Democratic candidates whiffed at the issue completely, knocking over the T-ball stand. Off the record, however, one candidate whose name rhymes with "you thin bitch" pointed out that despite his grave concern for the state of this sacred institution, Bush made no mention of other, more widespread threats to the sanctity of marriage, including spousal abuse, astronomical divorce rates and Britney Spears.

"I've taken it upon myself the responsibility to halt the crusading of activist judges who, I might remind you, were not elected," Bush paused for a moment during the speech for his point to sink in. The effect was not what the president had probably intended, however, since none of the assembled reporters were sure if by this he meant that judges weren't reflecting the will of the people, or if Bush was attempting to appear smarter by comparing himself to a judge, since he wasn't elected either.

"I think we might have to have a look here at that Constitution," Bush commented wryly, staring down his nose through an imaginary pair of glasses. "And make sure the founding fathers didn't sneak any other unpatriotic bits into the fine print."

When asked later if he thought the American people should vote on the contents of the Constitution every year, to prevent the document from ever conflicting with contemporary mores, whims or prejudices, President Bush pretended a large bug had flown into his ear and he couldn't hear nothing.

Vice President Dick Cheney, put in the hilariously ironic pickle of having to support an Anti-Gay president while not appearing to squeeze one on his lesbian daughter Mary, chose his words carefully. "Uuh… gay is good. Unless you think it isn't. But I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole. All people should be treated with respect and dignity. But we also shouldn't allow the fine institution of marriage to be sullied. Not that gay people are dirty. Can I go now?"

"All people are equal in God's sight," Bush announced charitably. "But let this be an example to the unpatriotic peoples in Europe and elsewhere who say the United States thinks it is God. We know where to draw the line on who gets to go heavily into debt while bowing to social convention, even if God doesn't."

Before being wrestled into a van by his handlers, Bush made vague mention of a proposed CIA program to weed out gay moles inside traditional marriages. While it is not clear how highly this threat to national insecurity ranks on the President's to-do list, most observers conclude it is likely nestled comfortable in-between "catch Saddama bin Laden" and "watch Ultimate Fighting Championship."

n another self-critical apology on national news, Vermont Governor Howard Dean tried to cheer up teary-eyed Democrats by letting them know, once again, he was sorry he yelled at them last Tuesday.

“Clearly, I was in a bad mood, or at least it seemed like I was in a bad mood,� Dean spoke slowly, in his lecture tone on Friday’s CBS Evening News With Dan Rather. “I want to make it known again, I was not yelling at you. I was just having a bad day.�

Blubbering Democratic and fence-riding undecided voters have chastised Dean, along with his supporters, for an almost human display of emotion following his third-place finish in the Iowa caucus last week. The candidate, previously holding a fair lead over other Democratic presidential nominees, has since appeared on every national media outlet except for the Food Channel and Screw! Magazine to let everyone know his yelling should not mistake him for being an exciting candidate.

“Understand,� Dean continued later, on NBC’s Later with Carson Daly show, “sometimes, you and your campaign people put a lot of work into getting your message out there, and it only helps you come in third in a state full of corn-chucking sons of—I’m sorry, sorry. Again, I’m not mad at you, Iowa. I mean, you can probably go and hand the thing to Bush right now, if you want, but—I apologize. I’m getting off message. I’m just saying, John Edwards? Isn’t he the guy that talks to dead people? How does John Edwards beat me? Tell me that and I’ll shut up.�

Dean’s efforts to apologize haven’t wavered since Tuesday’s outburst. He again tried to amend his statements and not go ballistic Saturday on M-TV’s Punk’d, with Ashton Kutcher.

“Sometimes I get a little riled up. I’m only human, or 80 percent human by-product, and I get mad sometimes. Like when Ashton made me think my car had been crushed into a cube—that was pretty funny, dude. But when I lost my temper, it wasn’t because I couldn’t take a joke. And that’s what the Iowa caucuses are, after all, right? Big fat jokes. John Edwards beats me, yeah, like I’m so sure—sorry. I’m losing my focus. What I mean to say is, sometimes, we candidates get mad and we fight with each other. But we’re not yelling at you, Democratic voters. It’s not your fault. Unless you’re from Iowa—lousy little outhouse right smack dab in the middle of America—�

Despite repeated outbursts on other news shows, Dean managed a reserved manner on Saturday morning’s Flatbush, New Jersey cable access show, 4 a.m. with Boner Cunningham.

“We’re taking lumps on this one, true, but it’s not distracting us from our campaign. The problem with this country is George W. Bush and a wayward administration, and we’re taking that message to the New Hampshire caucus, and people are responding. The Iowa caucus was a disappointing setback, but the New Hampshire caucus will show my campaign hasn’t suffered. I admit, I’m not a perfect person. I am capable of getting mad. Like when you introduced me as ‘that weird yelling guy’ on your show, or when you asked me if my statement of having ‘warts’ meant they were on my genitals. You think it’s funny, but it’s just the kind of thing that might send me into a rage if I weren’t so focused on the upcoming caucus and—look, you little shit, the word is ‘caucus,’ there’s nothing funny about it. Quit sniggering before I come over there and give you something to wail about.�

Needless to say, this reporter didn’t, and the governor did. We can safely say I think the commune has found a candidate worth endorsing.

Testifying against the mob hasn't been as much fun as I thought it would be. Not only has my life been repeatedly threatened and endangered, I've had to change my name and address more times than Martin Luther, and they've made me give back all those nice suits. But good people, I'm convinced I'm doing the right thing. It feels far too horrible to be the funner brand of wrong thing I'm more familiar with.

Despite my own convictions, however, the mobsters gunning for Rok remain unconvicted. Which brings me to something I once vowed to you, my mother, and the state department I would never do—I, Rockwell T. Finger, must leave the country.

I state it somewhat generally, as I've already left the country. At least now I know the world is not flat, it at least has another hemisphere. I'm living down under, and this time I don't mean in mother's basement. Australia, good people. G'day, queen! Like they say locally.

How can you say anything bad about Australia? Let's try. For one, I'm not certain what they've been told, but this language is certainly not English. Where I come from, America, we invented English, and I know English when I hear it. They have all sorts of oddball names for things down here. Mates, sheilas, kangaroos—I know a five-foot rat walking upright like a man when I see it. Cutesy names don't help me get to sleep any better at night. Maybe once I've finished the giant mousetrap I'll know sleep again.

Felchyana's taken to the place quite well, but she's a foreigner, no surprise there. All non-America places are probably alike to her. Unroll a sleeping mat out on the tundra and crash for a while, all the same. She has started to add these Australian colloquialisms to her speech though. I thought at first anything was better than gangsta slang, but changed my mind after coming home to, "Oy, bitch!" a few dozen nights.

Not that I have a job. I intended to commute to the commune as I had in the past, but I ran straight into some body of water following the map north. I can still communicate using this "Intro-Net" device, but it's not the same as being "hands-on" in the office. Sitting at my desk, holding my hands tightly on my old Royal typewriter so Ted Ted doesn't take it to hock at the local Pawn & Gun, trying to think about what really pisses me off that hasn't been sufficiently covered in previous columns or constitutional amendments. Working from home is just not for me.

I will say it's been a new experience. And I hate those. Which is good, since I pay the bills with my seething, undying hatred after I allow it to fester and boil up into column inches. Not that I was ever in danger of losing it, not as long as those New York Times liberals are still alive and kicking. So in the end, it may be good fuel for many more columns, but right now, I'm having trouble getting a good hate on.

But you know Rok Finger's way of doing things—always give everything a fair shot. Then when it fails miserably you can sound even more sincere in your complaints. Felchyana and I are going out this week to find where they filmed that boxing movie trilogy in the Z-Land. Afterwards, if I can spare the time, I'm going to reunite Men at Work, a little extra-credit brownnosing for boss Bagel. Eventually, one day, it will be safe to set foot on American soil again. And when that day comes, I'm going to take a hefty dump on Australia before leaving. With affection.

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